


The Light of Sun

by merve



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (Helios to be precise), M/M, Sherlock is a hero, TW: Blood, john is a sun god, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:16:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9554600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merve/pseuds/merve
Summary: First there was Chaos.Sometimes even gods need to be saved and that's when heroes appear. Mythology AU where John is the god of sun, and Sherlock is a hero and son of a blacksmith.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me after taking a mythology class for a term and when I told [consultingbeekepers](%E2%80%9Dconsultingbeekepers.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D) that I wanted to write a fic and she asked me "Any ideas so far?". It happened so suddenly like the first chapter is written in the same day that I found the AU, decided to write it and actually write it. So we'll see how it goes! :^)

First there was _Chaos_.

The grim, outrageous darkness of formless confusion that was the beginning of all tales ever told. It was black, endless, and therefore hopeless. From the single note of the deafening silence of this emptiness, as no one knew how to explain, two was born to change the disorder: _Darkness_ and _Night_. _Love_ was created from their union of shadows, and with its birth, every nice and beautiful being had come to existence, as well as _Light_ and its companion _Day_.

 _Light_ and _Love_ was living now, there was no reason for Earth to not to be created. With the sloppiness of _Afterthought_ as he forgot humans, and the help of _Forethought_ as he stole the fire, mankind was on earth for the first time with all the supremacy over other animals. Many brave heroes had their adventures for ages and ages but none of them was ever as pure as the love story of an ordinary mortal who wanted to reach his own light. He was the son of the most famous blacksmith of the island kingdom Londania and the goddess _Wisdom._ He was named Sherlock.  

 _Sun_ followed his sister _Moon_ and she followed him back. The son of the blacksmith could relate to their little sister _Dawn,_ as she would appear once a day to watch her siblings before she’d sleep again. Every night before the first light of the day the man with the dark curls and curious eyes would wake up and thank _Dawn_ in awe for bringing _Sun_ once again. _Sun_ would ride a chariot driven by four winged forces which were white. Every morning he’d take his chariot and travel across the sky, and in the West there would be a boat waiting for him to take him to East to let him rise again in the next morning. The beauty of him would hurt Sherlock’s eyes and when he wanted to look away, he’d keep seeing the trace of him everywhere. He’d lie in his bed and let the light paint and warm up his pale skin, let it touch his fingers and bring the shadows with his light. As slight as a caress but as harsh as flames. Every morning he’d find another part of his body burnt a little but it’d never hurt.

It was no different from every each day he’d wake up and show his gratitude to be blinded by beauty, when there was a knock on wood. He opened his eyes and looked at the door but his vision was still foggy by watching the bright sky for a long time. It wasn’t his father, his knock would be firmer. He rubbed his eyes a little before he said “Come in, Lestrade.”

“Sherlock,” he said with a trace of agitation in his voice when he stepped in and his sandals made too much noise on the floor for the quite room. “You might like this. The rug weaver next door was found dead last night and no one knows how-”

“It’s the cat.”

“Hm?”

“The cat. He can’t breathe when the cat is around. Well,” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t.” He crossed his arms under his head as he lied on his bed and closed his eyes. He had solved it at the exact second Lestrade had knocked on the door. He was getting slower though, lately he was distracted more than ever.

Lestrade eyed him suspiciously, clenched his jaw and crossed his arms on his chest. “How could you-”

“Please,” Sherlock snorted. Lestrade was not going to give him peace so he slowly pushed himself to sit down, turn his back to the only man who could sometimes reduce the dullness of his life, and find his slippers under his bed somewhere. The little rash was there on the skin of his left ankle. He smiled to himself and got on his feet.

“So the ripped pieces of his rugs that we saw last day were…the cat?”

“Yep.”

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. “This was easy,” he murmured to himself. Sometimes it even surprised him that he was trusting Sherlock and his deductions doubtlessly without even trying to understand them.

Sherlock’s fingers ran through his curls, his hand stayed in his nape for second before he put his cloak on his shoulders and his belt on his peplos. He pulled his sword from its scabbard, let the sunlight shine on it and gave the sky one last look before he turned to Lestrade abruptly to check if he has his sword. He smiled. “Swordfight?”

“In your room?”

“Why not?”

“I can tell you hundreds of-”

Sherlock shoved his sword to his friend’s way. The surprise on his face was priceless even though he had warned him that this fight was going to happen. Lestrade immediately pulled his sword but weariness could be read from every cell of his body. He stepped on his bed to push the man who was so done with Sherlock’s sudden boredom attacks further as their swords kept clinking. They were stuck at that position as they both tried to knock each other onto the floor. Sherlock stumbled over his cloak and Lestrade pushed his weapon onto him. He maintained his balance in the last second.

“You’re getting slow.”

Sherlock opened his mouth and frowned. “How dare you!” With a quick smooth move, he twisted Lestrade’s sword and a second later it was swinging as it was stabbed on the wall. Victory was all over Sherlock’s face and his back was straight when he was trying to catch his breath. It was not deadly boring for a few minutes, he thought to himself. His eyes were turned from the sword on the wall to the man under his own sword. “You’re getting old.”

“I am. Keep reminding,” Lestrade sighed and rolled his eyes with being glad that this was over. He was fighting with the son of a blacksmith. Of course he knew he’d lose. “I’ll try to find you another series of feud murders.”

“Yes! My favourite,” he said honestly, then withdrew his weapon and placed it in its scabbard back. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Feud murders would go on for years sometimes and if the families are crowded, there would be more suspects and it’d be more fun to solve their cases. This one that he was already working on wasn’t ended yet and he was trying to have fun while waiting for the right time to come before he left the house.

“For my own safety though,” Lestrade said as he held Sherlock’s hand who helped him up. His newly washed white chlamys was covered in dust now. It wasn’t a surprise that Sherlock’s room was nothing but dirt. He wondered when he had cleaned it and shook his head as he crinkled his nose. He walked pass the room to reach for his weapon hanging on the wall. “Though, you heard about these rumours going on about Fendora, yeah?”

“Fendora?” Sherlock frowned. He didn’t like not knowing. He looked at the sundial in front of his window as he walked past him to go out, knowing Lestrade would follow. He had to go out now to catch the murderer of the last series of murders.

“Yeah, a girl who has a mysterious box, apparently.” He put his sword where it belonged. “You know Pandora, and this is like a twin of her but born after ages. I don’t believe in it though, sounds a bit cheesy.”

They went down the stairs and Sherlock opened the door to go out. “And she has what Pandora had in the box?”

“No one knows. That’s why it’s mysterious.”

His black horse was waiting outside. Sherlock petted his head gently as he kept thinking whether it would be a rumour or not. Sun was shining on his skin again, he felt the warmth of it to his bones. He was pressing his lips together with not knowing more about it. If she had more evil in the box and if it was in the wrong hands, the already corrupted world would be in a terrible position. If she actually existed, where was Fendora now? Well, this was definitely interesting. He couldn’t hide his grin.

“You need help with the murderer?” 

“Fendora is a murderer?”

Lestrade blinked. “Aren’t you going after the murderer of the case you’re working on?”

“Yes. No.” He sighed and closed his eyes. _Stupid_. He was ridiculously distracted. The rash on his ankle was burning slightly. “I don’t need help. Find more information about it. I’ll meet you tomorrow here.” He directed his horse to move and disappeared in seconds. Sunlight was on his hair and his skin. He wanted to end his job before the nightfall. He wanted more time to appreciate _Sun_.

***

It was near midnight when he finally had chance to arrive at home. He tied his horse and climbed up the stairs. The murderer was delivered to the queen to be put in the dungeons so he could have a nice sleep tonight, though the thrill of catching a very fast killer had made him achingly tired and his legs were sore. His slow moving hands unfastened his belt and placed it on the bedside table, untied the knots of his peplos over his shoulders. The clothing that was wrapped around his body unwound and fell to the ground to leave his bare skin exposed to the night air that was coming from the window. He rubbed his eyes, ruffled his hair and lay on his bed where the moonlight was shining over the corner of his pillow. Despite the fatigue, it was hard to sleep because of the ache in his limbs. He turned to his right side to let the moonlight fall right onto his face.

“Selene,” he whispered to _Moon_ in the softest voice he could use. She was standing next to all those bright stars, _Moon_ was bright because _Sun_ was sharing his light with his sister, his light would be enough for everyone but at the same time it would never be enough, no one would have enough of the light of _Sun_. Sherlock wanted more. “Tell your brother to come to me. Me and me only.”

It was selfishness, it was jealousy but he wanted to make up for the day that he had to be separated from the light of his life. He knew he wasn’t the only one to appreciate the beauty. He wasn’t a king or a prince, just an ordinary mortal that no one even heard of but he wanted to be the one to take Sun’s attention.

As if his physical tiredness wasn’t enough, now his emotions were taking over him. He closed his eyes and turned to his left, burying himself in full darkness of his room. It was too much for a day. He curled his knees to himself, waited for sleep to take over him.

It was not so long after when he was half asleep and could barely hear the wind becoming bleak with the little part of his consciousness left awake. He wanted to see the tulle curtains dancing in front of his bed but his eyelids were as heavy as rocks. Despite the cool air wind brought in his room, he could feel the radiating warmth beside his feet. The dream he’s been in felt to real that he wasn’t even sure if he was sleeping anymore. The warmth was moving from his feet to his legs and thighs and stomach and chest and finally to his face. His eyelids were still closed but he could see the light shining right in front of him. Something cold was touching his legs and his chest, something was covering him.

“A gift,” whispered a tender voice, gently, “to let you know that I’m here every night.” Fingers were touching him under his ribcage on his left side now and Sherlock was burning. “For you and you only.”

Words traced on his skin like a hot breath. The light was filling him from the inside, he was throwing his head to expose his neck and arching his back. He was fully awake and in awe when he couldn’t hold himself and threw his hand to catch the hand. He was pressing the hand to his skin more, wanting more and more.

He pushed himself from where he’s lying and sat down on his bed to open his eyes with the shock of pain. He was breathing hard. Though the window was open and the wind was blowing hard, there was not enough air in the room. The moonlight was right onto him now, painting his shoulders and neck platinum white. The kind of passion that leaves a mark on his skin but never hurts was giving him an agonising pain now. His side was very red, redder than ever. Even though it was hard to see in the moonlight, it was significantly remarkable. He turned his palm to the light to see it covered with blood. It was numb with pain and he couldn’t feel it. His breathing wasn’t calming down, it was getting even worse with trying to understand what just happened. To find some clothing to cover his wounded hand, he got up. A cloak made of white feathers slipped to floor from his body. He froze for seconds before he started to draw circles in the room, ripped a bit of the cloth he wore during the day and wrapped around his hand and fingers. He drew the curtains closed, grabbed his sword and walked backwards until his bare body touched the cold walls. The corner felt like the only safe place and he kneeled there, trembling, eyeing the room in panic. He didn't know how long he waited there and he didn't care. 

The first light of the day was shining, _Dawn_ was smiling behind the curtains. He rubbed his sleepless eyes and didn’t thank her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry, I was meant to upload earlier but uhh here we are. I'll try to upload every week if possible, though I'm not promising because probably I'll be busy for the next few weeks but I'll try my best. Hope you'll like it!

“Put your clothes on.”

Sherlock lifted his head with the annoyed and annoying voice of Mycroft’s. Lestrade and his brother were looking down at him, mostly with weariness. He didn’t know how long Lestrade had been trying to wake him up from his trance but apparently it was long enough to let Mycroft know about it and make him leave his crucial jobs to do, like stroking Tyrant’s ego. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn’t need this, any of this. He had to figure out what had happened last night and about Fendora and everything would reach a solution. He didn’t need them to know about the rashes on his skin or the-

“What happened to your hand? Did it happen last night? You should have let me come with you last night.”

Lestrade. He was furrowing his brows and thinking it happened because of a case. Mycroft knew it wasn’t that, he could only guess and wouldn’t know. It made Sherlock smile, made him push his chest out a bit with amusement. Mycroft knew he wouldn’t answer if he asked about his hand. He was looking directly at his brother’s face, mulishly. “What for?” he answered as he kept ignoring Lestrade.

Mycroft sighed. He gave Sherlock his peplos which was ripped a bit but still enough to cover his parts. Sherlock put it on as said and got to his feet. Mycroft was eyeing him with narrowing his eyes, tightening his lips. “Are you on Pythia gases again, because if you are-”

“I am not,” Sherlock answered shortly.

He put both of his hands on the stick that he carried with him everywhere. “I hope you have an explanation for stealing this, then.” Mycroft pointed to the cloak covered with white feathers on it which Lestrade was holding. “Because, as you know, none of your cases can be a cause for stealing what belongs to a swan maiden. Don’t make me force-”

“I didn’t steal it.”

Mycroft snorted and looked away. The legend always said there would be a young, unmarried man who would take the cloak from her so that she wouldn’t be able to fly away and she would be his. It was definitely a surprise that it was to be Sherlock. Mycroft took a deep breath. “Where is she?”

“For the love of Gaea, I didn’t _steal_ it!” Sherlock yelled and threw his sword to the floor. He was shaking, staring at Mycroft with honesty, eyes wide. Last night had been hectic, he absolutely wasn’t over it yet and now he had to deal with a maddening big brother. He closed his eyes. “Don’t force me to push you out.” He pointed to the door.

“You won’t need to.” With slow steps and clack of his stick, he was out.

The only thing they could hear was Sherlock’s trembling breathing. Lestrade was staring at him in silence and didn’t know what to say, he could almost hear him thinking this being awkward and all. He knew Lestrade wanted to help in some way but he couldn’t just say what happened. He didn’t want anyone to know that he was communicating with some kind of a supernatural being this closely. Yet, at least. He needed to figure what it was before. “Fendora.”

“Yes,” Lestrade said, glad and relieved that the subject was changed. “I found a few people who claimed to be fortune tellers. All of them basically said that she can’t be good and is going to bring darkness to the whole world. You know the fortune tellers, they always exaggerate but mostly they are right. One of them even drew a sketch of her.” He handed Sherlock the papyrus. “I thought this was only a rumour. I don’t know if it’s only because I’m looking for more information about this but I heard a lot of people are starting to worry about it.”

Sherlock opened it slowly and looked down at it. She was a peaceful girl with a sweet face, closed eyes, long dark hair, and big hands covering a box. This definitely didn’t seem like a girl to bring darkness to whole world. What did she have in her little box? Sherlock lifted his head to look away and think. He looked at the sunlight coming between the curtains and making his room dim instead of pitch dark. _Darkness to the whole world._ His eyes widened.

“Get out. Find some heliotropes and incense. ”

Lestrade raised his eyebrows, asking him what he was on about.

“I need to change my clothes. I can’t appear before a god like this.”

Lestrade had already started thinking about where to find what Sherlock asked for when he nodded and left the room immediately.

Sherlock changed into the peplos he had never worn before, the whitest one. He cleaned his sandals and combed his hair with his fingers. With a deep breath, he stepped outside with the sunflower in his hand that used to stand on his bedside table and hadn’t withered even after weeks he had put it there. He needed to find more.

*

The brightest place he had ever seen in his life was unequivocally here. There weren’t many windows, even the ceiling had only one little window that was bringing light in. It felt like even the rock and ivies that were covering everywhere were shining, as if this place could light up Londania on its own. He swallowed hard and looked at his hands which were holding the cup that had all he needed in it and the sunflowers that he asked from a farmer. Sometimes even farmers could be nice if he was to solve their cases, though Angelo was a good man, regardless.  He didn’t need the sunflowers anyway but it was a gift. Just for him.

Lestrade groaned. “My eyes hurt.”

“Oh?” he said but didn’t even blink when he walked inside.

“I’m never coming to Helios’ Temple again. At least during the day.”

Sherlock smiled to himself because it wasn’t hurting him in anyway. “You can leave now.”

Lestrade clenched his jaw with Sherlock’s coldness. A _thank you_ wouldn’t be bad but he just sighed. “Yeah, I better or I’m gonna go blind,” he said and rubbed his eyes as he left.

The big door upstairs was visible from where Sherlock was standing. This temple wasn’t so ostentatious or flamboyant like other gods’. It was simple, plain, bare but enough to dazzle. He had to ask some great force about what was happening and he needed to be sure that _Sun_ was always going to be up there no matter what. Fendora was coming and he was worrying. Badly.

He climbed up the stairs slowly as his sandals clacked on the floor made of rocks with his each step and he wondered why he never found the time to come here before. The door’s handle was dusty and rusty like never been touched in ages. Everything looked fantastic from afar but the temple hadn’t been taken care of for a long time and it was- it just wasn’t complete. It was broken. Apparently no one needed to pray to _Sun_ when he was doing his job every day without anyone asking him to. He felt guilty, too, since he was one of those ‘anyone’.

The main room was made of six columns under a rectangular roof. He walked until he was standing in front of the statue of _Sun_ looking up with a heliotepre crown on his head. He looked down at the cup. The floor was cold but he had to sit down to light the cup up with pebble stones he brought with him. It was a few minutes later when the room was filled with the fragrance of flowers and incense. This would do the job.

He looked up. “Helios,” he said. Fendora was the main subject of him coming her but he had something else to ask, too. He didn’t like the pretentious ways of praying, he needed data now. “Was it you last night?”

He was still looking up at the muscular body of the huge statue. Probably something would happen now in a few minutes. He looked down at the burning cup. Maybe it needed more fire. He blew a few times and looked up. He rolled his eyes. Okay, he was going to do it in that way.

“Oh, dear Helios son of Hyperion!” he said as he got up on his feet. “I came here to praise you with the flowers that can’t take their faces off of you and all the good deeds I have done! Accept my gift and tell me what I should know!” He lifted his hand and showed it to the statue. “Was this done by you?”

He looked at the sunlight in the room, looked around in the temple to see if something was happening. He came back to where he was, put his hands on his hips.

“At least tell me about Fendora a bit. You know, she’ll bring darkness forever and the whole mankind needs you. Prove my worries wrong, maybe?”

He waited. Waited and waited. A little sign would be enough, maybe one of the ivies would catch on fire or a hard wind would blow or a half of the temple would collapse, anything. He kept lighting up the cup when needed and tried to keep the room filled with the scent. _Sun_ was going down and nothing continued to happen. He clenched his jaw and fists, lowered his eyebrows. All the flowers and incense were turned into ash. With a kick, the cup was turned upside down and everything in it was scattered around as he was heading to the door. “No wonder why nobody comes to you,” he murmured to himself.

*

A full day spent for nothing. He sighed exasperatedly. He would try later but wouldn’t waste a day for nothing. He needed a better way. Maybe he’d go to someone who knew how to pray to gods properly. Maybe he would find another god to ask but the other temples never felt like this one before. Somehow this one had made him stay there all day. There were questions going on in his head and even though nothing had happened he hadn’t felt bored at all.

He walked home with annoyed huffs in his every step. Tomorrow he’d find some people about praying but he had nothing to do for tonight so he could try to relax. He went up to stairs to see an olpe in front of his door with his name engraved on it. There was no one around, otherwise he’d see them but he turned to look anyway to be sure. He took it in hand and shook it slightly. It could be someone from the case he was working on, he couldn’t trust this vase of liquid but, oh, he was curious.  He went inside and placed the vase on the table without even lighting up a torch. The light of _Moon_ was enough for him to see, _Moon_ wouldn’t let him down.

He shook his head and grunted, trying to sweep away his annoyance. He covered his mouth and nose with a cloth, in case there was some kind of a gas as well in it. He was very familiar with overpowering scents but he couldn’t take risk now. With an unlit torch he hit it and stepped away as the broken pieces flew around. It seemed like a normal vase of drink. He removed the cloth because there wasn’t any smell at all until he bent onto the table. _Sniff_.

Wine. Wine? Who would care to send him wine? He dipped his finger into the puddle on the table and straightened his back, gave it a suspicious look before moving it to his lips to be sure. It wasn’t wine.

The second drink touched his tongue, he found himself holding on to the table to maintain his balance. Not only he felt dizzy but his vision was going blurry, too. His hand slipped from the table and a second later he was on the floor, unable to move. Every muscle in his body was tense, he almost couldn’t breathe. His eyes were closing even though he was forcing himself to keep them open. Panic was rising in inverse proportion to the control he had over his body.

“Sorry,” said a familiar voice. “I’m late.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback and comments are appreciated deeply :)


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